The Incoherent Panda


The Incoherent Panda

The Conscientious Consumer

‘Are you absolutely certain this product is GMO free?’ the woman asked the spice merchant.

‘Without a doubt, m’am,’ he answered, a friendly if not unsettling grin on his face.

‘And it contains none of those added chemicals?’

‘None at all, m’am. It’s completely natural.’

‘And it’s also vegan-friendly?’ she asked.

‘Yes, m’am.’

‘Gluten free?’

‘Best believe it, m’am.’

‘Wow,’ she said, sniffing the product she held in her hand. ‘It has quite a distinct smell to it. What did you say this was called again?’

‘Hemlock*, m’am. Or poison Hemlock, in some circles.’

‘Wait  a minute,’ she said, obvious suspicion arising in her voice. ‘It’s not from one of those Mosanto farms, is it?’

‘Monsanto?’ the spice merchant said, seemingly pensive. ‘Can’t say I ever met the fella. Wait, do you mean that Guatemalan chap selling fruits on the side of the road?’

‘No, Monsanto is . . oh nevermind. ‘She clapped her hands together in excitement. ‘I’ll take five bags then.’


*For those not familiar with Hemlock, it is a plant most famous for its toxic properties, that, if consumed by a mortal human, could result in a tragic case of absolute if not poetic deadness.


The Hipster Farmer

“My fruits and veggies are all organic, bros”
the hipster farmer proudly assured his costumers.
“None of that pesticide or GMO stuff.”
“They’re wickedly safe to eat.”

On another note,
the hipster farmer went on to work happily on his farm,
religously advocating the importance of food safety
till the day that he died,
which was three years later,
when one of his own coconuts fell from a tree,
and crushed his skull through his fedora.

Explaining Vacation to an Alien

This is the second installment of “Explaining things to an alien”, where I share transcripts of my conversations with Tztcl: an extraterrestrial I’ve had the pleasure of meeting and subsequently betraying.

Tztcl: *Enters my home* How are you, human. *Does the Vulcan Salute as I taught him, which is frankly freaking hilarious*

Me: *Snickers* I’m doing awesome man.

Tztcl: *Flicks his antennas*  Hmmm. I believe my senses have just spotted a deception here. You say you are good, yet your biochemical parameters indicate that you are currently suffering from chronic stress and exhaustion.

Me: *Sighs* It’s technically not a lie, testicle.

Tztcl: My name is Tztcl.

Me: That’s what I said, testicle. Anyways, I wasn’t lying. Here on Earth, just because someone asks about you doesn’t mean they actually give a crap about you. Social convention mandates you to tell people you are fine regardless of how you’re actually feeling. Any other answer would be a severe breach of protocol.

Tztcl: But what if my inquiry regarding your well-being is geniune?

Me: Then you have to be more persistent, and insist I tell you the truth while I pretend I don’t want to talk about myself, even though I wholeheartedly believe that I’m the only subject in this world worth discussing.

(Half an hour of Tztcl’s insistence later)

Me: Fine! Fine! I’ll tell you. Geez. It’s work, man. Work’s got me tired. These full-time shifts are becoming a real strain on my lemonsack, if you know what I’m saying.

Tztcl: But how can you work at a place that is causing your health to deteriorate? According to my current knowledge, the human body cannot maintain such level of strain for a prolonged period of time.

Me: You’re right, testicle, but luckily summer vacation is just around the corner.

Tztcl: *Wriggles tentacles*

Me: You seem confused, testicle.

Tztcl:  I understand the word summer, which is a temperate season of the year. But what is this vacation you speak of?

Me: *sighs* Vacation is a break you take from your everyday life so you can recover physically by sleeping, and emotionally with a bottle of wine and half of your mom’s Vicodin prescription. It’s like recharging your battery so you can keep on going a little while longer.

Tztcl: I see. But if what you say is correct,  does that not mean that vacations are only required because you live an unbalanced and unsustainable lifestyle that requires you to take frequent escapes?

Me: Maybe, but it’s more complicated than that, testicle. Vacation—

Tztcl: It seems like this vacation you speak of is a temporary remedy. It is a bandage you wrap around your gaping wound so you can still utilize the limb for a little while longer, though it does little to stop the flesh from corrupting and consuming you from within. Maybe, if you faced the parts of your life that makes you unhappy instead, you can live a life you need no escape from. You could finally find the peace within that you’ve been clearly lacking for so long. And in the process, maybe you could finally stop hating yourself.

Me: *Turns away from Tztcl* I’d like you to leave now, testicle.

Tztcl: Why?

Me: You’ve pissed me off, testicle, and now I need a vacation from you.

5 Tips that Will Help Get You Into Shape for Summer

As any fitness magazine will tell you: spring is the season where your self-loathing goes from general discontent to a level of disgust that could only be described as having Madonna’s reptilian tongue in your mouth.
And if I have but one complaint in this world (though rest assured I have many more), it would be that a fit and healthy lifestyle is so damn expensive to sustain. Between gym membership fees, expensive supplements and psychotherapy, I can barely scrape enough money to make it rain at McDonald’s on alternate Sundays.


Since any penny you can spare is a valuable one, here are five fitness tips that will help you get into shape without any additional costs (except for your time, of course).

It’s been scientifically proven that the cycling-swimming-running format is the most efficient one, because sitting on a bike for over an hour will have your balls tucked all the way up into your abdominal cavity. It goes without saying that this will reduce the drag during your swim. And fear not: the bounce in your jog will (hopefully) have your marbles back down in place by the time you cross the finish line.

Disclaimer: this tip has only been tested on men, but I suspect it works differently for women. I can only speculate since the female anatomy eludes me.

Because full-on rage at the entire universe is probably the best pre-workout out there.

Honorable mention: having a gym partner who doesn’t watch Game of Thrones and who loves ranting about the fact that he just “doesn’t see what all the hype is about”.

There’s no entrance fee, and you’ll be able to get in about 10-to-30 minutes of quality workout before cops arrive because several parents have reported a strange dude doing pull-ups on the monkey bars and dangling junk in front of five-year-olds playing in the sandbox below.

As a bonus, you’ll know when it’s time to switch over to cardio when the men in blue start chasing you.

You can sell the eggs and use the money to buy yourself some cookies ‘n cream flavored protein powder, like every other normal person living in the 21st century.

Laughing at bad form is a great way to get those six-pack abs you’ve always wanted.

The Ten-Step Academic Writing Process

Anyone who has ever written anything remotely academic has undergone the same exact writing process. Without exception. Anyone who claims to have deviated from the following 10-step process is not only a boldfaced liar, but probably also someone who hates baby pandas.

Scenario: A bachelor student – let’s call her Jill – had just gotten the green light from her supervisor to start on her thesis, the proposal of which is due in two weeks’ time. Jill, being a motivated student, decides to start on the very first day. Unbeknownst to her, she ends up walking through the ten-step process of academic writing.

You got this shit, Jill.

Step one: First she stares at a blank Word document, without blinking, for fifteen to twenty minutes, depending on what feels right to her.

Step two: She then proceeds to write down her first sentence. It’s going to be generic and cliché; starting with something like “As recent studies suggest . . .” or “As the world population continues to grow . . .” or “[Object of study] has been gathering more and more interest of late . . .”

Step Three: She deletes the first sentence because while it was (probably) grammatically sound, it didn’t actually communicate any thought.

Step Four: Jill repeats steps 2 and 3 between six and twelve times – again, depending on what feels right to her.

Step Five: She suddenly remembers her best friend’s aunt had posted a picture on Facebook and she had forgotten to like it. It’s a two-second task that requires her immediate attention. And also, it takes two hours.

Step Six: A determined Jill finally closes the Facebook tab and stares at the still-blank Word document. For half a second.

Step Seven: Jill takes a well earned break.

Step Eight: Jill returns from her break. Two weeks later. And her deadline’s less than an hour away.

Step Nine: A mental clarity dawns on Jill in what can only be described as divine revelation. Suddenly everything clicks into place, the stars align and the universe reveals the path that had been hers for the taking all along. An ancient energy now courses through her veins and words finally start pouring over the blank emptiness. Her fingers move over the keyboard almost of their own accord, every key she hits, an explosion of pure cosmic enlightenment. Basically, she’s shitting academic rainbows.

Step Ten: She submits her proposal one minute before the deadline with a click of the mouse. She then leans back into her chair and wonders, really wonders, whether she had crossed that invisible line that separates referencing from plagiarism.

Explaining Easter to an Alien

After a prolonged hiatus, the IC has risen from its temporary grave on the third posting day, which is not unlike [FILL IN BLANK].

The reason behind my absence is pretty straightforward; I made history by being the first human to ever make contact with an extraterrestrial being (considering that junkies and hippies hogging airtime on National Geographic are not biologically recognized as human beings).

Teztcl (name of said alien) and I became best buds over the course of our time together – until yesterday when I totally Judas-ed him by selling him to Donald Trump, who had been in dire need of lizard skin ever since its synthetic exodermic film started rejecting human grafts.

Teztcl is the kinda homie you would have deep three-a.m. conversations on a Tuesday with, and we’ve spent a great deal of our time together discussing the intricacy of the noble human race – all of which has been recorded for future exploits, of course.
The following is a transcript of a dialogue that followed shortly after our initial encounter.

Me: Okay testicle—

Teztcl: Teztcl. My name is Teztcl.

Me: Yes. Testicle. I know you’re new to Earth and all, so I’ve taken it upon myself to teach you about our ways. My wisdom is infinite, so feel free to ask me any question you’d like. Anything at all. Go on.

Teztcl: Why did you request anal probing?

Me: *coughs* Ahem. Next question, testicle.

Teztcl: You have Easter marked on your calendar. What is this Easter?

Me: Excellent question, testicle. Easter is the day we celebrate the resurrection of Jesus our Lord and Savior by going to church for the first time since Christmas. Afterwards we get wasted in front of the TV while the kids are outside searching for chocolate eggs they believe a bunny has stowed all over the garden for them to find. Spoiler alert: there are no eggs. It’s just something that keeps the kids busy on a holiday that inconveniently overlaps with March Madness.

Teztcl: That makes no sense to Teztcl. My computer cannot find any standing relationship between the return of Jesus and biologically incorrect bunny that lays eggs. You pretend to be celebrating one thing but your actions suggest that you are actually celebrating something else. This is what you humans call, a sham, no?

Me: *shakes head condescendingly* No, testicle. We call it Easter.

Women for Dummies: an extensive how-to guide

In paying homage to the International Women’s Day, today’s post will be a sneak peek at my out coming self-published book: Women for Dummies: an extensive how-to guide on handling the cray-cray.

Like all critically acclaimed books, it’s written for men, by a man.

I want to start out by acknowledging the many radical thinkers out there who advocate absurd notions like, “women are easy to deal with”; that all you have to do is “be there when it counts”, “listen when they talk”, “respect their boundaries” and “acknowledge that they have more to offer than being your sex vessel by night and cleaner/chef by day”. Some even go as far as to claim that “each individual woman is unique and that you “can’t just make assumptions for the whole bunch”.

Well, I laugh in your faces, sirs, ’cause if that were the case, why are so many people rich from selling men advice on women?
The inescapable truth is that we’re like apples and oranges. Except that we sometimes also have sex with one another. Men and women are fundamentally different in every way, and my comprehensive guide will break it down for you dummies out there, and by dummies, naturally, I mean men.

Below you’ll find FREE excerpts from my highly manticipated book.

Page 5. INTRODUCTION: women, am I right?
A man has to bear in mind, whenever he’s dealing with women, that the anatomy of the female brain is completely different from its superior male counterpart. The female nervous system is actually just a single, complete ring (also known as the gossip circle), which is why they only seem to talk in boring, unending loops.

Page 27. CHAPTER 7: red tidings
It is well-known that women suffer from a monthly case of possession that, for the safety of the writer, shall not be named. Though there are men who deny its existence altogether, I can assure you that this is not the case.
Much like a wolfman turns into a vicious throat-ripping beast under the full moon, so do women make similarly terrifying transformations once every month.
As a male, you must avoid its scarlet wrath at all costs, and in order to do so, there are certain rules you must never break, namely, (1) never ever, under any circumstance, speak the red demon’s name when a nearby female is under its possession; (2) make sure to offer the female chocolate, as it contains compounds that counters the most malign symptoms of the affliction, though be sure to offer chocolate only on even days of the month, when the female stomachs are connected to their hearts; (3) on uneven days you offer material, inedible things (think shoes, make-up, any Grey’s Anatomy season on Blu-ray) because on those days the female heart is linked to their vanity, and last but most importantly; (4) a smart dummy should avoid the touch of females under the crimson possession altogether, but if it cannot be avoided, make sure your left pinky toe is pointing Eastward for the whole duration of contact.

Page 132. CHAPTER 21: Positive reinforcements
The best gift a man can give a woman is unsolicited approval on their physique, be it by leaving a like or comment on a picture on Facebook or Instagram,  or by more traditional means such as catcalling on the streets.
When women aren’t thinking about what to make for dinner or how to please you in the bedroom, they’re wondering whether their current physique is worthy of your approval. That is why a complete stranger on the street telling them they look bangable is about the highest compliment a woman can ever get, so be sure to make your verdict known. Even if the female in question appears too shy to ask for your opinion outright, you must trust that she craves it.

Make sure to buy my book, available exclusively on I’maDong, and remember; these aren’t tips, they’re life-lessons towards becoming a misogyny genius, or, misogenius.

Other People’s Advice: Where You Can Put It


It’s like an STD, in that you should always be on high alert, because there’s always going to be someone eager to give it to you.

Where there’s advice there’s usually either a self-important asshole that places too much importance in his or her  own opinion, and/or someone who lacks confidence and ends up putting too much importance in the opinions of others.

In both cases a vital element of advice-giving is ignored, namely that other people’s opinions are exactly that: theirs.

Often when people offer you advice, they’re not actually talking to you . Instead they’re  talking to other versions of themselves, and they reason what they would’ve done or wished they had done in your situation.

For someone to give you good advice, he would have to both know you very well and be able to put himself in your shoes. And you probably have a greater chance of running into the Loch Ness Unicorn at the end of a rainbow guarding a holy grail full of gold, than you do of finding someone capable of giving you proper advice.

So most advice, though benevolent in its nature, should be taken with a grain of salt, because it’s not tailored to the person on the receiving end but rather to the person giving it.

Advice is like an archeological dig on a cattle farm, in that even though 99% of what you find is bullshit, you still keep on sifting through it, hoping to find that one piece of gold that makes it all worth it.

It’s not uncommon for me to receive advice regarding my writing from people who neither write nor read (advice which can basically be summed up to: “Write shorter texts, use more cartoons, and maybe try making some video’s eh?”).

I admit that some or maybe – *gulp* –  most people are put off by the thought of having to read a long text consisting of words, and that images and videos are more appealing and digestible channels for communicating to the mainstream masses.  I’ve given this advice a great deal of thought, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it was sound advice, but only for someone who aims to please the masses.

It just wasn’t useful advice for me.

Because I like writing, and blogging is a way for me to reach out to like-minded readers and writers who appreciate my incoherent brand (if they exist, fingers crossed). I’m confident enough to know what I’m looking for, but more importantly, I’m also confident enough to listen to opinions differing from mines and to consider their validity.

Because advice is like evil twins, in that being able to distinguish between the good and the bad ones could mean the difference between success and complete destruction.

To conclude this post on a highly ironic note, I’m going to advise you on the proper protocol for dealing with advice.

Take it or leave it.

But more importantly, take it.

Scenario: you’re at the famous Office Potato Chips and Nachos Party, and George  –from cubicle B13  – feels it’s his civic duty to dissuade you from trying the dip.

Comic pt 1


Instead of just taking George’s word for it, you prod further, noting the reasons he gives for having arrived to his opinion.

comic pt 2

Only after considering this, and only then, do you go on to form your own decision.

comic pt 3

A Week Without Social Media: Survivor Tells His Grim Story

The following post contains excerpts from the daily journal held by a somewhat sociopathic soul who has turned his back to society by choosing to live in a world without social media.

Reader discretion is advised.

panda adict

Day 1, February 1st

I barely made it through Day One without social media.
Withdrawal effects haunt me. My fingers twitch involuntarily, not knowing what to do with my phone anymore. I feel out of touch with the world. I ask myself, what if, during this one-month exile, a picture of a tie-wearing cat drifts across the Internet stratosphere without anyone to “Like” it?
Have I not foregone my civil duty to acknowledge said cat picture?
The only thing I feel now is loneliness.
I knew I had hit rock bottom when I caught myself considering using my phone to make calls again. Luckily, decided against doing something so rash.
I’m desperate, but not that desperate.

Day 2, February 2nd

So this is what complete solitude feels like. To live in a dark hole beneath the ground where all the exits only lead you deeper underground. I’ve received texts from concerned friends.
They worry for my sanity, and they wonder why I’ve committed social suicide. They see my refrain from Facebook as one man’s desperate cry for help. I wonder if this is true.
May God help us all.
But especially me.
Well, mostly me.

Day 3, February 3rd

Today I met up with some friends for lunch. Had a blast. Could it be that human contact is more human when you’re actually making physical contact with actual humans? How can we possibly ever know for sure?
I was about to take a picture of my lunch when a wave of chilling realization washed over me; even if I had taken the picture, I wouldn’t be able to share it.
I wonder, if a tree falls and there is no one around to “Like” it because nobody has tweeted or posted about it − did it really happen?

Day 4, February 4th

I went to the barbershop today, perhaps just to feel the touch of another person. Maybe because I really needed a haircut, it’s hard to say for sure.
But when it rains it pours. The barber accidentally chipped off a piece of my ear with the hair clipper, and as I looked at the trail of blood trickling down my neck in the mirror, part of me became convinced that it was I who subconsciously made the barber’s hand slip and subsequently succeeding in the extremely unlikely act of cutting off a piece of my ear with a hair clipper.

Didn’t van Gogh cut off his own ear because he was forced to live in a world without social media?

Day 5, February 5th

I think I’m finally starting to get better. The withdrawal symptoms are slowly fading. I no longer feel the need to suck on that blue F-shaped cigarette. Instead I patch my boredom up by either reading books or writing or watching documentaries. I’m discovering that there are other things in the world, physical things that social media cannot provide.
This makes me feel like Columbus, in that even though I know that I hadn’t been the first one to discover this, I will dedicate the rest of my life ensuring that I will be celebrated for this “novel discovery” nonetheless.

Day 6, February 6th

I don’t usually dream, but I dreamt last night. In this dream I was a cursor, and I was scrolling down a nondescript person’s timeline, happily hovering over jumble of words attached to heavily Photoshopped pictures and embarrassingly misplaced quotes.
It felt, good.
It was only when my cursor-self clicked “Like” on a video of a ninety-year-old war veteran twerking, that my dream became a nightmare . . .

Day 7, February 7th

I had a relapse today.
I had lemon sorbet after dinner and it was actually quite nice (you know, for being ice cream’s hideous sister). Then a depressing thought came to me. If I can’t share this experience on the Internet then my dessert is deserted, which means that this hurt that I feel on this earth is without purpose.
I chuckled when I said this out loud, but by the time its empty echoes had bounced their way back to my ears, I was crying inconsolably . . .

One week down, three more to go. Will I make it?
How should I know?
I’m not on Facebook . . .

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